Shattered and Unraveled to Ignite
by sweetheartbreaker
Summary: He promised himself she will choose him. That promise to himself still stands. (Ignite Me rewritten in the eyes of Aaron Warner Anderson.)
1. Chapter 1

_(Very quick A/N before I continue to my best friend __**TheTrueAwesomeness**__: don't read this until you've read the series or I'm going to panic and might kill you in the process. Love you)_

**Chapter One**

She's alive.

She's breathing, and twitching, and shifting once in a while and color is in her cheeks and she's asleep and she's alive.

He's never felt so much relief in his entire life.

Delalieu had assisted him on his feeble attempt to hide her and place her in the base, and he couldn't be more grateful the old man never questioned him in anything he did. Because if Delalieu had not, she... Juliette might as well be dead as she was on the floor of his mother's house.

The memory resurfaces in his mind, and he does not even attempt to hold it down even if it makes him so sick to the bones, he's close to dropping on his knees and spill out his breakfast.

But of course he does not. He is being watched, not just by his men but by his father himself, trying to see cracks in his perfectly masked face. When they do, they would pounce on him, like hungry predators on prey. He will not give them the satisfaction.

Instead he suffers in silence. He lets himself be haunted by the image, and he stands there and watches the whole thing replay over and over again in his mind.

The man who calls himself his father shoots her, Juliette, and he watches in horror, his heart shattering into a million pieces, as she's thrown back, hits the wall, then the floor. Her eyes are closed, and color is draining fast from her being, and blood, thick red blood begins to pool around her. He tries to pinpoint the exact location of the bullet in her stomach from where he is standing and he can't and it's mocking him. The world is mocking him, telling him he cannot save her, much less have her.

His first option was to run in front of her and use his body as a shield when the gun was fired. But even if he's fast enough to do it, the man who calls himself his father would have killed her still, and with both them wounded and a number of heartbeats away from death, he would not be able to save her.

He planted both his feet on the ground, taking all his willpower not to run towards her as she fell back, as if she weighed no more than a sheet of paper. He felt his blood turn ice cold as he watched the man who calls himself his father reveal the gun, shoot her without hesitation, place the gun back and walk away. Warner felt his father's emotions. There were none.

The devil.

He walked away like he just finished eating breakfast and was going to work. He walked away like he just had a nice small talk with his favorite son. He walked away like there was no girl bleeding to death in the room. But he didn't walk away fast enough to hide the smile he had on his face. He did not try to.

Warner wanted to rip his face off.

The man who calls himself his father smiled at Warner like he was sharing a little secret with him, and that Warner should be pleased he took off the thorn he was holding.

She's a rose, he wanted to scream.

But he waited. Warner waited until the man who calls himself his father was out of the room, the door shut and footsteps were inaudible. Not until then did he run... away from her.

Oh, he badly, badly wanted to run towards her and cradle her in his arms and tell her it's going to be alright but no. He didn't want to give her empty promises. She was going to be alright.

He ran to room where the healer twins were kept.

The rest of everything was a blur. But the memory of Juliette getting shot by the man who calls himself father replayed over and over his mind, Warner was sure he was going to go crazy if he didn't make sure she was alright.

He cut Delalieu off in midsentence, he does not even remember what they were conversing about. "You are dismissed," he says.

Delalieu's mouth is open, and he looks mildly hurt. "Sir?" he asks.

Warner scans the room and sees that they are alone. "I will get back to you on that, Delalieu," Warner clears himself. "You are dismissed."

Delalieu does not say anything else, salutes and walks out of the room. Once he's out, Warner stands up and tries his hardest not to fly to his room where she's staying.

He walks as calmly as he can, passing by every door, every hallway with a blank expression on his face, and his hands clamp together behind him. He is willing himself not to shake too much.

When he enters his room, he immediately bolts to where the bed is, and breathes in and out loudly as he finds her there still sleeping soundly.

His breaths are ragged as he takes off his coat, his guns, his belt like they are wearing him down. He runs to the bathroom and opens the faucet on the sink. He rolls his sleeves up and washes his face. He rips the towels off its place and wipes his face roughly and runs back to the bed.

She's still there. Still breathing. Still alive.

He feels it in his bones, in his Energy. He can feel her presence, her life and it makes him take a deep exhale of relief.

Then fear starts to settle in again. His toes feel cold as he starts to think, What if she never wakes up?

He hates his reaction to this, his panic, his unsettlement. He hates that he's so useless and so vulnerable. But he does not hate that it's because of her.

He sits down carefully beside her.

"Juliette," he tries. Softly.

"Juliette, love," he says.

Nothing. She does not even stir.

His fear heightens. "Wake up," he whispers urgently. He bends toward her, his hand ready to reach her. "Wake up."

Her eyes fly open, clears, the familiar blue-green stabilizes him. Calms him, somehow.

He takes his hand back ungracefully and tries to remember how to breathe. In and out, he tells himself.

"Good morning," she says.

He does not bother tell her it's almost noon. He greets her with a smile instead, even though he's not sure he can pull it off successfully. He's been thinking too much. Worrying too much.

He moves aside as she sits up, forces his hands to himself as she closes her eyes as if warding off devils that are haunting her, and just looks at her.

When she reopens them, he allows himself to feel her presence again. It is a luxury, a secret sin he's always allowed himself to do. To sense her. It's not as good as touching her, but for now it's good enough. It's good enough.

She seems calm, it almost startles him. He feels her presence like a warm glow, a little light that is just switched on, flickers a bit and then steadies. Calm. Serene, even.

He's almost glad she does not know anything yet, because he knows it will crush her. What he knows will crush the little steady light.

She meets his eyes, and he's afraid the light might fade, but it stays calm. It glows brighter even. Warmer. "You saved my life," she says.

Grateful. She is grateful. It's an emotion so alien to him he doesn't question it when warmth consumes him.

Of course he saved her life. He might as well put a bullet through his own heart if he did not.

She feels to warm, so steady, it almost scares him that later she will know... She will have to know.

The light blazes. It's suddenly too hot. It's starting to go out of control. It dims then lights then dims then lights... Panic. She's panicking, he realizes.

Her eyes dart back and forth, across the room. She moves away from him too suddenly she hits the back of her head on the headboard, and she makes herself smaller. He could almost see her mind go through the memories of what transpired in this place...

His reaction is immediate. He tries to calm her. "It's ok. It's all right—"

"What am I doing here?" She's not listening to him. The fear is dominating her mind. It is so plain in her voice he didn't have to have a gift to know she is afraid. Terrified. Her eyes, big and wide, beautiful yet certainly frightened. "Why did you bring me here again—?"

And it pains him to see her this way. He curses himself over and over for scaring her. He needs to calm her down. "Juliette, please, I'm not going to hurt you—"

"Then why did you bring me here?" There is accusation in her voice. It's like she's forgotten that she's thanking him for saving her life just a moment ago. "Why bring me back to this hellhole—"

"I had to hide you."

She has to understand. He pleads with his eyes for her to understand this is the only way he could save her from everything. He pushes a breath out of his lungs and looks up the ceiling to make himself focus and not lose her like this.

The scorching heat subsides a bit. Confusion. "What? Why?"

She is listening, his brain tells him and he forces down a smile of relief. Instead, he slowly lowers his eyes to hers. "No one knows you're alive. I had to get back to base. I needed to pretend everything was back to normal and I was running out of time," he explains as softly as he can. She has to understand. She has to.

The light clicks off altogether. A certain breeze replaces it. Warm and cold. Refreshing. Soothing. A little trembling, but it's so much better than that light that almost turned into flame. He is so relieved he almost pushed himself towards her. But he stays in place, and watches her, satisfied with the feeling of her presence inside him.

She studies him in silence, and it soothes him that she finds him of any interest to be worth examining. Then she glances down and the breeze picks up and becomes an unsteady wind.

Warner steels himself for another wave shouting when she opens her mouth and is too surprised when she whispers and hesitates, "Did you . . . Did—I mean—my clothes—"

She plays with bottom of her shirt and looks so adorable he can't help but smile and stare at her. She faces becomes buried in a shade of red, and the wind becomes too warm as it paces.

He does not want to scare her with what his reaction to her feelings so he turns his gaze to his hands. He's smiling into his hands. He tries not to deliberate how stupid he must look. "No," he says. "The girls took care of that. I just carried you to bed."

"The girls," she says too quietly his head shoots back up. The wind slows down a little too much.

Warner watches in quiet panic as her eyes changes as millions of thoughts must be pillaging through her. Too soon, he thinks. She remembered too soon.

The wind is picking up speed again. Turning into a hurricane that almost blows him away. She's worried, and scared and hopeful and a mesh of emotions and she wants to do something.

Warner reaches up and catches her as she tries to stand up and with her strength, fails. Her breaths are ragged, and her eyebrows are furrowed in the frustration of her weakness. But the wind does not slow down.

"Warner, what happened? What's happening with the battle—?"

"Please, you need to start slowly; you should eat something—" he hears desperation in his voice in effort to stop the growing hurricane. He holds her shoulder to steady her, but she does not want to listen to him. She does not want calm.

"Tell me—"

He stalls. "Don't you want to eat first? Or shower?"

"No." Her voice was firm and defiant. "I have to know now."

This stubborn, stubborn girl. He will never win against her. Never in his life. Or the next. He takes a deep breath and hope in this short lapse of conversation she changes her mind. The hurricane tells him otherwise. It's starting to spin now.

He reaches for the ring on the smallest finger of his left hand in effort to calm himself enough to speak. "It's over."

A thunder echoes inside him. "What?"

There's no going back now. "It's over."

She breathes out one word. "No."

Lightning flashes together with the spinning hurricane he names her presence. She's a powerful little thing, but she also needs to know. He nods at her, it's true, he's saying.

"No."

The storm stops so suddenly Warner panics. "Juliette."

"No," she says, and suddenly there's fire and rain and ice replacing the storm. "No. No. Don't be stupid. Don't be ridiculous. Don't lie to me goddamn you," she's screaming and whispering at the same time and he tries to reach her but she backs away from him. "No, no, no, no—" she's gasping and catching her breath...

His eyes widen as he watches her stand up and not fail this time.

Ice. There's only ice right now, and his heart is stabbed by dull knives. Too defective to draw blood, but still good enough to cause pain. She is extremely terrified.

"Juliette," he says.

She just blinks at him. She does not seem to hear him. Her eyes are watery and she tries to blink the tears away.

"Juliette," he says again and reaches for her.

It happens too quickly. She slips on the crumpled sheets on the floor and falls stomach first on the ground.

He bends down and stretches one hand to help her up but she screams for him to stop. Just stop. The ice of her emotions freezes everything inside him.

"Why?" she asks. "Why is the battle over?"

If Warner stays silent enough he could almost hear the ice shift and crack.

Maybe he just needs a pick so he can shape the ice into something wonderful. Maybe he can come up with a lie, make everything easier for her. But no, he can't let her hope like that just to crush it later. He does not want her hurt.

So he says it, her blue-green eyes wide, bracing her for the impact of his words. "Because they're dead, love. They're all dead."

.

.

.

_(A/N: I'm probably going to jail for this._

_Yes. What you see now is the exact first chapter of Ms. Mafi's 3rd book of the Shatter Me series written in the eyes of Aaron Warner Anderson._

_Yes. I am going to rewrite the whole book, but in the same way. In the eyes of Aaron Warner Anderson._

_I really honestly wish Ms. Mafi and the law will forgive me. I really, really can't help it. I'm desperate. I can't get him out of my head._

_I have a serious issue. I'm obsessed with Aaron Warner Anderson. Which is the reason you have read what you have just read._

_I'm really sorry because I know I will never ever do justice to Ignite Me in Warner's POV. The book is really really awesome and it's a crime for me to do this. Both literally and metaphorically._

_Anyhow, what do you think? Because I think Warner may be someone worth going to jail for. Or it's just me.)_


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

Warner shut off his power immediately after he answered her, knowing from that point what she will feel.

Pain.

So much pain.

Pain so palpable even with his power shut off, he could feel it in his bones, his blood, his heart... his whole being. It's ripping him in half.

He wants to catch her every tear. Bring back every breath she lost. Carry her pain for her, because he knows, he completely understands what if feels to have lost everything you have in your life. Especially for Juliette who did not have much to begin with, and the little that she had was taken from her. And he just wants her to feel better.

He takes her shaking form in his arms, trying to keep her together even if he knows she is breaking and falling apart. She is falling apart in his arms and he cannot do anything about it.

His uselessness disgusts him.

"Shh," he whispers in her ear as she sobs and cries. They are the worst form of music. Like a violin bow swinging on untuned strings wringing out irregular notes, some too high, some too low. Everything without a life. Without a soul. Then you don't call it music. You call it torture.

It is Warner's torture. Seeing Juliette in so much pain.

Silently, he vows to himself, she will never see this much pain ever again.

"I'm sorry, love," he whispers to her, hoping his voice could reach her. She is lost in her mind, he knows, because if she were with him at the moment, she would have already pushed him away. He has to get her out of there. She has to wake up. She has to let him help her, and let her see that the world is still spinning and there is still tomorrow.

But what matters to Juliette is now. The very moment where everything she had ever cared about is literally bombed out of the world.

"I know, I know," he breathes and holds her closer to himself, feeling every shaking muscle that is coming apart like a house that is too old it might come down any moment. Warner will do anything to prevent that moment. He holds her closer, his heart in flames, knowing what he's doing is everything he has ever wanted and everything she will never want. But if this is what it takes to get her back, he will risk his life, his heart, his soul, his everything for her.

He smooths down the tangles of her hair behind her and lays her forehead on the crook of his neck. "Love, it's not over yet. Juliette, please, listen, please," he says. He tries to rock her like how a mother rocks a baby, thinking it may comfort her. But that kind of comfort comes from someone the baby is familiar with, from someone the baby trusts, and loves.

He does not come close to the description.

His skin is burning where he could feel her. Every cell, every part of his body is screaming how stupid he is. How he has to let go if he did not want to get himself hurt because he knows deep in his bones that she will never be his. Never.

Damn himself. He does not care about himself. She will always go first, above everything else.

"Oh, Juliette," he hears his voice cracking, knowing he cannot get to her. He cannot get to her in time. He cannot save her. What is he thinking? She could barely hear him. She is not responding.

She's just sitting there like a doll, if dolls cry and gasp for air and shake like they are at the final moments of their synthetic life.

"Come back to me, Juliette, please," he tells her, holding her tighter than ever, closer than ever.

She screams. It is an unearthly sound. A hiss and a screech blended into one. A sound full of pain. A sound that may be only created someone tortured by hell.

He almost breaks.

"Let go of me!" she yells, the yell directed to him, her voice scratchy from her sobbing and screaming.

He is so relieved he lets go of her almost immediately, even if her arms are forcing him out, pushing him away from her, like his touch is killing her. It is ironic how that works._ Her _touch is supposed to be the one which can kill, yet in this room, just his words induced within her a kind of pain that even death cannot compete with.

And it also pains him. Kills him slowly.

He slips back, an arm's length away from her, and watches her as she cries on her own. She carries herself on her own. She clutches her stomach as if she just ate something that made her sick, although she hasn't eaten anything yet. She pants for air as if she has never tasted it before. She cries as if that was how she was supposed to live.

Selfishly, he wonders if she will cry like that over his death.

"Adam."'

She stabbed Warner in the gut, then traced the wound to his heart creating a gash big enough for all his insides to spill out.

She said one word and Warner is back in hell, where he may actually belong.

His brain tells him, _I told you so._

He is suddenly plunged back into the past, not long ago when Omega Point was still standing and she allowed him to enter her small bedroom. When he thought she wanted him as much as he wanted her. He told her he wanted her to be special, and asked her to call him by his given name. _Aaron._ But when she opened her mouth, she said another name, a name that did not belong to him.

It's the same name she said then, and it's still the first name that came out her mouth.

"Juliette, please—" he is not sure if he says this for her or for him. Because his heart has also just been ripped from the weak strings it was holding on to and is almost beating its last. But he set aside his pain. He should not be hurting. It is only natural she mourned for the one she loved the most. How dare he even feel pain for himself at the moment when Juliette is at her weakest? He does not have any right, he thinks, to feel any pain for himself. He should be carrying her pain for her, not the other way around.

He switches his power on, and without bracing himself, he feels the impact of her burden. It's like the sky fell from its hinges and she is carrying it for the world. Then the sky gets set on fire, and now she has to carry it higher so the people around her will not be burned. All her bones and muscles are breaking from the strain, but she can't die. She is not given that luxury.

All he could do is stand there and watch her and feel his own heart get run over by the cruelty of the world.

Her lips shape another word. "Kenji."

She shakes so violently he is tempted to call for medics.

But she has to realize what she's doing is making it worse for herself. She should not remember these people anymore. She will just get herself killed emotionally if she goes over then and realize that... she has nothing left.

"Please, love, let me help you—"

"What about James? He was left at Omega Point—he wasn't a-allowed to c-come—" she is stuttering. She's never shown this kind of weakness in front of Warner, and this is what breaks him the most.

Breaks him enough to tell her everything because the more he keeps to himself, the more lies she will feed herself, the more hurt she will get later once she finds out she's been lied to. "It's all been destroyed," he says quietly hoping she will not hear him. But of course she does. The room is quiet enough. The walls shut off sounds from the outside, and no sound escape from it.

"Everything," he watches as her eyes pool with tears she is not willing to release. "They tortured some of your members into giving away the exact location of Omega Point. Then they bombed the entire thing."

"Oh, God." Her eyes are trained on the ceiling, staring at a single point, helping her stop the tears from falling. But she's failing, and like a breaking dam, the tears are released, flowing endlessly from the rivers of her eyes. Her hand covers her mouth as if preventing her screaming, or breathing... Warner does not know. All he knows is that she is in _so_ much pain. So much, he has to help her. He has to do something about it.

And he does not know how. He does not know what else to say. He has never dealt with this amount of pain from someone so close to his heart before. From someone whose heart is his. "I'm so sorry," he tries to say as sincerely as he can. "You have no idea how sorry I am."

Her pain subsides for a moment to make way for a flare of anger. "Liar," she answers almost immediately. He's a monster. To her, he is an unfeeling, heartless lunatic. "You're not sorry at all." Her eyes tell him, _If anything, you're even happy they're dead. Less people you have to not-care about._

He does not correct her. This is not the time for that. Perhaps there wouldn't be a time to correct her, but for now he did not care. Not even if it means his dream will never come true. His dream of just sitting in front of her and telling her everything he needs to tell her. Telling her the deepest, darkest parts of his heart, and then she would do the same. Because that's what she's dreaming, too. To have a friend.

He tries to tamper down the pain he's feeling, and puts on the mask he's already mastered. He masks a hitch in his breath by clearing his throat. He masks the shaking of his hands by standing up and walking away from her. "I am sorry," he tells her and puts on his coat back.

Then an emotion appears in her presence he did not expect to find. Guilt. "Where are you going?" she asks.

He looks at her broken form, staring so intently at him like he is one of the fewest cords keeping her from falling apart. He clears every thought from his mind and imagines the white walls that represent his being. Empty. He's sure he just imagined everything. She can't feel that towards him. She does not want him anywhere in her life. "You need time to process this and you clearly have no use for my company," he says in a neutral voice, forcing all emotion out of his system.

There is it again. Another emotion Warner could not place. Yet so written very plain in her eyes. It's something that doesn't have to do with anger. Something exactly opposite… He realizes he does not want to hurt himself further for assuming she can feel anything towards besides pure hatred. "I will attend to a few tasks until you're ready to talk," he says.

But inside him, there is a little fire brave enough to hope and think, _Ask me to stay._

_I will stay if you tell me to stay._

"Please tell me you're wrong. Tell me there's a chance you could be wrong—" she says, her voice barely recognizable as hers. It's almost fading. She is running after her breaths as if they're numbered. He forces himself not to break in front of her. He has to at least be strong for her. He has to show her that his strength can be hers, as her pain is also his.

_You can ask me to stay, and I will hold you together. I will stay with you until your demons leave, and everything will be a shadow from the past._

Then, for a little bit, he opens his heart to her, knowing that this way, she will understand that he has her best intentions in his heart. "If there were even the slightest chance I could spare you this pain," he says, "I would've taken it. You must know I wouldn't have said it if it weren't absolutely true."

Her eyes glazes over as if she sees him for the first time, and then she loses focus on him because all he is, is a reminder of everything stolen from her. Her pain doubles, and he carries the pain with her. Silently, he suffers as she suffer. He feels what she's feeling.

"Juliette?" he calls, and realizes she's once again out of his reach, but not too far off. She's strong, he tells himself, she can bring herself back without his help.

And he curses himself for hoping, for even thinking that she might asking him to stay to be with her. He cannot be his substitute for her. He cannot be _Kent_.

In a moment of weakness, Warner draws a shuddering breath before walking out of the room, all the time taking notes of Juliette's unchanging emotion. Hurt. Constant pain.

He finds Delalieu and lets the old man walk him through the day, the pain deep inside of him, he gets used walking with it, like it's what he is meant to live with.

For Juliette, he would live to do anything.

.

.

.

_(A/N: Thank you, thank you, thank you so much for the warm welcome to this story. I can see I have a lot of sisters here with the same kind of love for dear Warner. And I can't help but write about him always it almost scares me how deep he is buried in my heart._

_This is sort of a huge deal for me. My previous readers know I am lousy at updating... But you know how love (obsession) makes you do crazy things? I cannot promise consistency in these kinds of early updates, though. I'll always try to update as soon as I can but I can only hope my schedule will have mercy on me._

_I believe this chapter is a little worse than the first one, because what the heck, I'm suddenly struck with Writer's Block I have to force myself to write this. Then again, the cure to Writer's Block is writing so... Thank you again for everyone who reviewed and favorited and followed. I'm not sure if I can keep my standards. I keep falling apart every time I write about Warner, even just thinking about him drives me crazy... But thank you for reading this anyway. Thank you so much.)_


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three**

She's asleep, he thinks to himself when the pain he's feeling in her presence subsides into slight tremors he associates with peace. It _is_ more peaceful than the wind and fire fighting against each other for domination, almost crippling him.

He's poked around her private space for too long, he thinks as he clicks off his power to let her mourn for what she's lost in peace.

The sun is low on the sky now, as if preparing itself for the dip towards slumber. It is covered by clouds like makeshift pajamas and now it's just waiting for darkness to take over and it will be more than willing to let go of what it's holding.

The people in the village are just as close to darkness as the sun. They are waiting for the darkness to take them in so they wouldn't have to see what the light has to offer. In the light, the devastation is so plain in sight one would not be able to ignore it. The darkness is much kinder. The darkness keeps them, and embraces them and lies to them. It tells them stories of death that may not be true. In the dark it may not be true. And they are willing to listen to the darkness. They are so depleted. So empty.

The Reestablishment has won again.

They crushed the hopes of this people, and any other hope that may rise they burned to ashes. There is nothing left now to believe. Nothing left to hope for.

The village is just as in pain as Juliette is.

But here, Warner needs to stay out of it. He needs to be indifferent to their suffering. He needs to show them that they are just as disposable to the Reestablishment as those who have died.

He is sick of it.

He is so sick of it he cannot even feel his limbs as he walks back to his room when everything for the day has ended.

His senses click into position the same time he opens the door he did not have time to process what she is feeling that moment.

She is not asleep at all.

She is on her feet, her right arm leaning against the wall, and she is leafing through her notebook Warner left in the room in case he gets out of control and read it in public.

She looks up at him and closes the notebook, her fire burning through him. She is still in pain, but another emotion is dominating her.

He tries to sort her feelings out to understand.

"I'm taking this back," she says.

Anger? Hatred? He thinks. Not quite. What is it?

"You're feeling better?" he asks, ignoring her demand.

She motions to the previous position of the notebook before it found its place in her hands. "My notebook was just sitting here, on the bedside table." Her face is hard, like her mind is only half there, half thinking about the notebook. Half somewhere else.

What really surprises him is she seems calmed down. There are still traces of pain, but their clumped around together in a lump and it seems protected by a stronger emotion. But what? What emotion?

Warner feels like he has to know if he wants to understand her. And he does want to understand her.

"Yes," he manages to answer despite his distraction.

"I'm taking it back," she says and pockets her notebook, making it known to him that she is not kidding.

The emotion is ringing in his bones. He knows he's always felt it in himself before. It's familiar, yet he still can't name it.

"I understand."

She walks toward him and he feels his heart tremble at the decreasing distance between them.

He may fall apart right then. "Are you," he starts, and corrects himself. "I'm sorry, are you going somewhere?"

She stops in the middle of a step. Then she pauses and looks around as if he just woke her up from a dream. She seems more distracted that he is.

"I need to get out of here," she tells him.

That's not new, he thinks to himself as he walks to the beside table and take off his outergarments one by one, taking his time.

He knows this emotion, he tells himself. He bids his time removing the weight of his clothes off him while he thinks hard. It's not until he places his guns down that he is reminded of the feeling that burns in him every time he sees his father. The guns. _Of course._

Everything clicks into place, he can't help but smile when he looks at her. He places both his hand in his pocket so he does not look too excited. "Where are you going, love?" he asks her.

The brightness in her eyes is too familiar it can be his own if they were green enough. "I have some things I need to take care of."

He smiles wider, her answer confirming his theory. "Is that right?" It feels comfortable somehow, seeing what he feels reflected in the tension set on her shoulders and the way she holds herself.

She seems irritated now, and he knows it can help fuel the fire of her emotion.

This emotion so strong he feels it himself. And even before Juliette was in his life, he's felt that emotion. It's almost like a friend revisiting him, reminding him that they still have work to do. But now, they have a new recruit.

Someone stronger than they are, and is willing to go beyond what Warner can do.

Someone who also holds Warner's heart in the strings tied to her wrist. She does not realize it. The beating heart she is holding. But Warner looks at her, and he knows his long wait has come to an end.

Not personally.

His personal desire would not come for a long time. Maybe not even in his lifetime. But his smile does not waver. Because... hope is always stronger than fear. And if she comes to realize that the truth of his words before, maybe she would learn to love him as well.

He keeps his thoughts to himself and concentrate on the beauty that is in front of him. She was looking at him like she's expecting him to say something. _Damn,_ he thinks. He missed what she just said. But he keeps his calm and raises an eyebrow at her.

And what she tells him speaks volumes of what she's feeling.

"Your father-"

Vengeful. She is feeling vengeful.

Vengeful towards his father. Towards the man who tried to kill her and was almost successful. Towards the man who took everything from her. Towards the man who raised him up to be what he is right now. Warner couldn't be more pleased than he is at the moment.

Because he can't kill his own. But she can.

"Is not here."

The look on her face tells him that he's right, and he can't help but smile wider. He admires her confidence despite what happened. And he was right, she is much stronger. She can hold herself up.

His heart swells in pride.

"You really thought you could walk out of this room, knock on my father's door and do away with him?" Warner does not underestimate Juliette. He knows if she has that chance, she will take it. He knows it as he says it.

"No," her answer is a little too quick.

He tilts his head slightly, not even bothering to hide the amusement in his voice, but when he speaks, it was soft. "Liar, liar pants on fire."

The glare she gives him just adds to his amusement. Its like her form of familiar endearment. If endearment can be equated to hatred and usual annoyance.

"My father is gone," he amends, and tries to put on his serious face but fails miserably. "He's gone back to the capital and he's taken Sonya and Sara with him."

Her face warps into something that is the complete opposite of his and whispers one word. "No."

He curses himself inwardly for ruining the delicate moment.

"Are they... alive?"

Something blossoms in place of her vengeful spirit. A flower. Its bud breaks from the soil of her heart. It's shapeless, but it's there. Colorless, but alive.

Warner watches the flower in her eyes as he answers. "I don't know. I imagine they must be, as they're of no use to my father in any other condition."

He watches as the flowers takes on a color, a light pink and then catches the light that turns it to healthy red.

"They're alive. I have to get them back- I have to find them, I-"

"You what?" Warner feels his blood go cold, as if the blossoming flower is sapping the life off of him. He tries to keep a straight face as he looks at Juliette. "How will you get to my father? How will you fight him?"

Juliette starts to pace, unsteady with herself, her mind working a thousand possibilities. The flower is growing more leaves, more buds sprouting beside it. "I don't know!" she says. "But I have to find them! They might be my only friends left in this world-"

He winces when she says this.

But when she turns to him, her eyes are burning too brightly to see the hurt painted on his face. The flowers opens up its petals, and gold light sprays out of it, almost blinding Warner.

"What if there are others?"

She walks up to him, her eyes nervous and excited at the same time. She is most beautiful, he thinks, when she hopes. But that's what hope did. It brings life to the dead, and gives meaning to the useless.

"What if there are other survivors? What if they are hiding somewhere?"

And right in front of his eyes, he foretells the crushing of this beautiful flower. The image of Juliette getting shot. The image of the damage all over the place. His father. There are a lot of things that may destroy this hope.

He'd rather be the one to do it now, than later when the flower is in its full bloom.

"That seems unlikely," he tries.

"But there's a chance, isn't there?" The flower is almost fully open now, its pistils like gold threads, littered with even smaller golden pollen grains. Warner admires its detailed perfection, as beautiful as the owner herself, and finds fear in destroying the beautiful creation. She has to stop. She has to stop hoping. "If there's even a slightest chance-"

"If you'd seen the devastation the way that I did, you wouldn't be saying such things. Hope will break your heart all over again."

_Such hypocrisy._

His heart laughs at him. His heart which keeps beating for Juliette. Which is willing to offer everything just so she could spare him a glance, or a thought in her ever preoccupied mind. Which is desperately in love with her despite the knowledge of never having that love reciprocated back.

"They've been planning for a war for a very long time," her voice snaps him back to reality and it's just then that he sees that she's on her knees, with the bed post holding her upright. He stops any thought that would lead him to sitting in front of her and holding her in his arms. "They must have had a backup plan," she was saying. "A place to hide-"

"Juliette-"

"Dammit Warner!" Her nails dig into the bed post. She may not even be realizing what she's doing. But she's not shouting at him in anger. Not really. He's beyond her at the moment. She's looking past him. "You have to let me look!"

"This is unhealthy," he's unable to meet her gaze. He may as well be talking about himself. He closes and uncloses his hands. "It's dangerous for you to think that there's a chance anyone might still be alive."

_Then why are you still believing she could be yours?_

Shut up, stupid heart.

"Please."

_Tell me. Can you say no to that?_

Shut up, shut up, shut up.

Warner visualizes his heart as a person with the same face as he is, who just smiles slyly at him and shrugs. Of course. He can never say no to Juliette. Especially when she asks nicely.

He takes a deep breath then explains the ways of the Reestablishment, how everything already has a system and how their cold cruelty already has planted the seeds of fear in Sector 45.

A petal drops from the perfect unnamed flower.

"While I'm overseeing the compounds, I can find a way to take you back to Omega Point," it's going to draw a bit of suspicion but it's nothing. If it's for her... "I can show you what's happened. And then once you have proof, you will have to make your choice."

"What choice?"

Warner chews the inside of his cheek before answering. He's thought of this before. Of course he had. He's thought of everything beyond this. Because all his choices revolved around her. His everything revolved around her. While that is true, he would let her make her own choices. He's beginning to understand what the sacrifices that are the costs of loving.

"You have to decide your next move," he says, echoing his thoughts. "You can stay with me," he suppresses a breath. "Or, if you prefer, I can arrange for you to live undetected, somewhere on unregulated grounds." He's already arranged that, too. The house is ready if she makes this choice. There will be food delivered to her thrice a day everyday of her life. "But it will be solitary existence. You can never be discovered."

"Oh."

The silence is heavy, as if the choice is obvious to the both of them he didn't even have to lay it out for her.

"Yes," he says, afraid the silence would go on forever and drive him crazy.

But silence descends on them once again, threatening him. He watches as the red flower pales to pink, as it considers the choices it has. Warner blinks, not understanding the status of the flower.

"Or," Juliette cuts the silence with a powerful voice. The pink flower is now fully open, more beautiful now than ever. It has a powerful aura, as if its beauty is just a mask for the poison it holds. "I leave, find your father, kill him and deal with the consequences on my own."

Warner looks down to hide the smile that fights its way to his face. He's too relieved to do anything else. The relief consumes him enough to let a small laugh and a snicker escape his lips. It's so stupid. So stupid to focus on a one tiny fact: She is not trying to leave him.

And beyond the relief is pride.

"What's so funny?"

He tries to look at her, but everything, from the very beginning is slowly coming together. They are finally here. As he predicted. "My dear girl," he says softly.

Her response is incredulous. "What?"

"I have been waiting for this moment for a long time now."

"What do you mean?"

Sure she must remember. He's always been talking about it before. He has not thought of anything else. Juliette Ferrars has always been strong. And now the strength is going to show itself fearsome.

"You're finally ready," he says. "You're finally ready to fight."

"Of course I am." The tremble on her lip shows that she's realized what he is talking about.

Warner isn't able to control in anymore and laughs out loud. He can't believe it. He can't believe this day has finally come. All his efforts are not a waste at all. He'd believed in her. He knew she was going to fight anyway. And now she is ready. She wouldn't believe how proud he is of her. Of _them_.

"I am going to kill your father," she says, like she's trying to prove him something. She doesn't have to. He already knows. He completely understands what she is capable of. He looks at her as she delivers her speech with a lingering smile on his face. "And I'm going to destroy The Reestablishment." She must think he's mocking her. He has time to think of this but he really can't put the smile away. "I will."

"I know," he says.

She gives him a look. Unbelieving. But not anger. Not hatred. It's so different, Warner wants to laugh again. "Then why are you laughing at me?"

His smile is genuine, he hopes she knows. Because he won't be willing that she will fight alone. "I'm not. I'm only wondering," he says, "if you would like my help."

His heart, which still appears as another him, bearing his face and giving him a knowing smile as if asking him, _Are _you_ ready? _

Warner looks at Juliette, his perfect flower, and knows in his heart, he has always been ready.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four**

She is just staring at him, and he is just looking right back at her, afraid that one sound, one breath, one heartbeat will destroy the tender moment.

It is a _moment_. It's something Warner wants to keep in his mind, imprint in his memory. A moment where they're just talking, and he has a feeling they'll be talking for a while. The thought brings a smile to his heart that he pushes away from himself. Juliette already has enough thinking that he is making fun of her.

Of course, like all of Warner's fantasy moments, Juliette's the one who ruins it, even though she's the core reason for everything in the first place.

She mouths just one word as she blinks, and even though her emotions are plain in Warner's _touch_, he is not sure whether it is to clear her thoughts or her tears away. Or maybe the image of him that she had in her mind. He does not want to ponder of how frightening that thought is.

"What?" she says, a breath, a heartbeat, a word, that does not quite ruin his moment. If anything, it tightens the cord that binds them to each other, the eyes that don't look away. Blue against green. The gold flower of hope winking at Warner's white walls, teasing them to go down. To open. To break.

And break they did.

Warner opens his mouth, and when he speaks, it's like a dam has opened and his heart rushed to where the flower is planted, only to be pulled away by the currents of his emotions.

He's still a coward.

A coward taking a leap of faith.

"I've always told you that we would make an excellent team. I've always said that I've been waiting for you to be ready—for you to recognize your anger, your own strength. I've been waiting since the day I met you."

He bites his tongue, afraid that he might have said too much, or too little, or just right to frighten her off again, and to accuse him again as the cause of the destruction from the beginning and they'd be lost in the limbo of their relationship.

Relationship.

"But you wanted to use me for The Reestablishment," she is saying, her eyes still not looking away, as if they are looking for answer, searching his soul, looking through the walls that are not there anymore. "You wanted me to torture innocent people—"

This time, Warner does smile when he says,"Not true."

"What?" she blinks again, the flower's petals swaying to flow of his emotions... like they matter. "What are you talking about?" her words were breathy, but she does not look away. She never looks away. "You told me yourself—"

"I lied," he says, with a shrug that goes with his feigned nonchalance. If he'd be honest with himself, he is anything but nonchalant. He is excited. He is afraid. He is ecstatic. He is nervous.

He is ringing with emotions.

It's strange that way. He could feel himself just as well as he does with other people. With Juliette. He can feel his emotions like a tide, going up and down and up and down. He can feel his electricity in the air, dangerous and harmless at the same time. Dangerous to him. Harmless to everyone else.

And her emotions, that's a totally different story, but similar as well.

The flower is gone. It had become a garden in the span of time Warner's emotions cracked the dam and threw everything of balance. The flower, no flowers are blooming. But not just with hope.

Expectation.

And where a white wall had been before, there is also a flower. A reflection of Juliette's, but as blue as her eyes. It is his flower. His hope. His own wild belief that somehow, she is feeling for him.

And there is no way he could let go of everything right now. He takes as step forward as he talks. "There are three things you should know about me, love. The first is that I hate my father more than you might ever be capable of understanding."

More of his walls go down. The cage where he kept himself alive all this time is already collapsing, and only at the weight of Juliette's gaze. The asylum of his mind that kept his thoughts sane are now collapsing, and at the moment, he finds peace and contentment in that.

He clears his throat as another wall goes down.

"Second, is that I am an unapologetically selfish person, who, in almost every situation, makes decisions based entirely on self-interest."

He is the city of Jericho and Juliette is Joshua. Joshua who did nothing but walk around the city and blew his little trumpet that shook down the walls and made the city bare in front of her enemies. Juliette who is looking at him with her mouth agape, has now fully and completely torn his walls apart.

"And third," he says to complete his thought, as he goes back to where it all began. He laughs a little and speaks the biggest truth that he lied about to everyone. "I never had any intention of using you as a weapon."

Juliette breathes in and does not breathe out. Warner risks another step forward but stops himself when the breath forces itself out of her lips. She closes her eyes, the first second in their conversation where their contact was broken.

When she opens them, she looks away. She looks everywhere but him. Her breaths are like a pump. Loud puffs of air, in and out, in and out of her system. She sits down, slowly, like doesn't even know she's moving.

For once in his life, Warner is not scared. Warner does not feel scared. For once he feels in control of the situation, so unlike the times he spends with his father, or around the Sector, where all eyes are trained on him, and one mistake will crumple him. But even then, around Juliette, he had felt scared before. Scared that he will never be enough for her. But now, he feels a chance. He feels hope. And that hope is enough to trample the fear where it was before.

"That was an elaborate scheme I designed entirely for my father's benefit," Warner says. "I had to convince him it would be a good idea to invest in someone like you, that we might utilize you for military gain. And to be quite, quite honest, I'm still not sure how I managed it." His own honesty might have surprised him any other time, but here, in Juliette's presence, he is nothing else but himself. And he couldn't stop. "The idea is ludicrous. To spend all that time, money, and energy on reforming a supposedly psychotic girl just for the sake of torture?" He shakes his head as he reminisced those moments of secrets and even a certain level of panic. Worry. Sacrifice. He manages to smile at them now, like an old friend he is meeting with after a long time. "I knew from the beginning it would be a fruitless endeavor; a complete waste of time. There are far more effective methods of extracting information from the unwilling."

He didn't realize he stopped looking at her, and only does when he looks back to find her eyes wide, so confused, so _so_ confused. Behind the confusion is the surprise, the shattered misconception that is still trying to rebuild itself, only to be taken apart again and again by Warner's words. Is he there? Has he made it? Has he earned enough to make him see through her heart?

Subconsciously, or maybe he does it consciously and he just doesn't want to admit it to himself, he heightens he Energy to tap more on what she is feeling, beyond the confusion and the surprise. What he finds is something that makes him take a step backward.

Walls.

Walling him out of her. Walling him out of her heart.

And he feels it more when she asks with her voice breaking. "Then why—why did you want me?"

Her question leads him back to his system, where his own feelings don't even come close to the reality of the problem, to the gravity of the situation. He doesn't dare break their gaze when he says, "I wanted to study you."

She gasps, her confusion makes a whirlwind around her, making the gap between the two of them wider, as if she could protect herself from what Warner is about to tell her. "What?" she asks.

He takes himself back. Rebuild the walls. Recollect the dam. Pluck out the flowers off his system. Maybe he'd hoped too much. But as strong as his will is, so strong is that hope that doesn't let himself do what he wants. The walls remain down, and the water continues to flow, watering the flowers of Juliette's and his own garden. That darn hope is still looking at the golden flowers that are not swept away by the hurricane around her, as if beckoning him to continue his tread to where she is forward, and forward and not stopping to look back.

He turns away, annoyed with the power of hope overriding the system, although a Herculean task on its own. The gaze Juliette is giving him is enough to crush him altogether. He shuts off his Energy and is granted with peace that he now associates with death. "Did you know," he whispers, somehow worried that someone might hear what they are talking about. "that my mother lives in that house? The one my father brought you to? The one where he shot you? She was in her room. Just down the hall from where he was keeping you." At the back of his eyes, he can see everything in place. The halls where the maids keep themselves busy, the room where his mother lays sleeping, and the room where Juliette's blood made a puddle that will never be erased in his memory.

He closes his eyes to erase them from his head, and turns back again to soothe himself with blue-green of the eyes he so fell in love with.

"Yes," she whispers back, as if sharing a secret. "Your father mentioned something about her."

He forces his breath to steady as soon as she finishes. "Oh? And what," he notices this for the first time, that when he's anxious, his senses goes off without his intentions, and he hates himself because he doesn't have the energy or the will to keep them under control. "did he say about her?"

He hates it more that she looks so transparent at the moment. The concern blowing a warm wind from her, the hurricane dying down to make way for it. "That she's sick. That he stores her there because she doesn't do well in the compounds." He hates it even more that he doesn't know what to make of the care in her eyes, and the way her lips tremble as if she wants to keep the pain away from him.

_What the hell did that even mean?!_

His breaths are as unsteady as the wind of her concern, and leans back on the wall behind him, grateful for the support. He closes and opens his eyes, trying to make sense of what is in front of him, and what is behind him at the same time.

Juliette, who is supposed to hate everything about him, showing more than he could ever hope for and ask for with her big sea-colored eyes. And his mother, the first person who loved him, and may as well be the last, who is drifting away from him slowly, but surely. "Yes," he says after a while of gaining control of his Energy and shuts it down once more.

He is determined not to read her anymore. At least not yet. He'd read her too much for a day.

"It's true. She's sick. She became ill very suddenly." He looks at Juliette, and just looks at her, past her then at her, as if she could bring clarity to what he is going through. Finally, he loses himself to the past once again. And in Juliette's eyes. "When I was a child, she seemed perfectly fine. But then one day she just . . . fell apart. For years I fought my father to seek treatment, to find a cure, but he never cared. I was on my own to find help for her, and no matter who I contacted, no doctor was able to treat her. No one, knew what was wrong with her. She exists in a constant state of agony... and I've always been too selfish to let her die."

He finds himself out of breath, and when he refocuses back to Juliette, he sees that she is not looking at him. Not at his eyes, but at his hands where his fingers were fiddling with the jade ring again. He doesn't bother stopping himself.

"And then I heard about you. I'd heard stories about you, rumors... and it gave me hope for the very first time," he manages not to cringe at word. _Hope_. Such a delicate and dangerous word. "I wanted access to you; I wanted to study you. I wanted to know and understand you firsthand. Because in all my research, you were the only person I'd ever heard of who might be able to offer me answers about my mother's condition. I was desperate. I was willing to try anything."

Even without his power, he hears the hope in her voice. There's still confusion. There's still uncertainty. Unwillingness to believe him. A bit of fear. But hope, above all.

There it is again. That word. _Hope_.

"What do you mean? How could someone like me be able to help you with your mother?"

He searches her eyes for answer.

_Why, Juliette. Why would you care? How can you care about me?_

Then, he lets everything go. The pain of the confusion of sorting out Juliette's emotions, and the pain of not knowing anything else about his mother. Whatever he was before comes tumbling down like Jack down the hill. And at the bottom of that hill, he dares to ask, will Juliette catch him?

"Because, love. You cannot touch anyone. And she... she cannot be touched."

...

A/N: I'm sorry for the late update. It's been hard to get back to writing this again since... I don't know... it's hard to make sure that I'd get Warner's character in position while trying not to fangirl too much. And I think there's a little too much of fangirling in this chapter.

I'm really grateful for all the support. Those reviews that keep me going. Reminding me that: HEY STUPID YOU HAVE THIS FREAKING STORY IN LINE.

So, yeah. Thank you, thank you, thank you so much for the reviews and the continued support. I can't promise anything. I wanted to finish this story last year, actually. I thought that I could update one chapter every two days so I can finish 60++ chapters within 3 months. But that didn't happen, and I'm sorry about it. It's vanity issues, don't worry.

You'll hear more from me soon! (I hope.) Loves on all of you.

~sweetheartbreaker


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